


Maybe they'll leave you alone, But not me (and certainly not Yuri)

by pineapplefork



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angry Yuri Plisetsky, Angst, But it's there, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky Friendship, M/M, Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky Are Best Friends, POV Yuri Plisetsky, References to Depression, Trans Yuri Plisetsky, Yuri Plisetsky Needs a Hug, the last one is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of mention, the last two are of minor importance, yuri is a little shit but in reality he's just a sof boi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplefork/pseuds/pineapplefork
Summary: The very first time Yuri has to spend an entire weekend over at Victor and Yuuri’s place, he is not happy.ORferal kitten is adopted by idiots in love: a biography
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Lilia Baranovskaya & Yakov Feltsman, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 20
Kudos: 237





	1. You're never gonna fit in much, kid (he really doesn't want to)

**Author's Note:**

> my all-time favourite trope is yuri being taken in by these two dorks and growing to secretly love it
> 
> hope y'all enjoy, lmao
> 
> (title and chapter titles are from teenagers by my chemical romance)
> 
> Mind the tags, please and thank you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feral kitten is brought into foster care; plot twist, its owners are feral too

The very first time Yuri has to spend an entire weekend over at Victor and Yuuri’s place, he is not happy.

Everybody who has had the pleasure of meeting Yuri Plisetsky knows that he is not a passive person by nature. Admittedly, he has his weaknesses— weaknesses which include cats, big cats, animal print of any kind and stone-faced kazakh boys— but generally, he fits into the category of ‘v angry smol bean’ (Or at least his Tumblr followers say so). Although he has a poker face master for a best friend, it’s rare when he’s unhappy and doesn’t show it. Even so, he prides himself with the fact that, if he really wants to, he can keep his cool and can do it rather well. Unfortunately for Yakov, today was not one of the days when he really wanted to.

'What the fuck do you mean I have to stay with them for the rest of the week!?' Yuri cries, earning a few judging looks from passers-by. He was both exasperated and positively fuming. Why? Precisely because Yakov had just proceeded to tell Yuri to go pack his bags right then, because starting tomorrow he would be staying with Katsudon and his fiance until Monday morning, when his coach and ballet teacher got back. He was 16, for fuck’s sake! He didn’t need a babysitter, let alone two! Not to mention that those two morons were so sickly in love and wouldn’t be able to stop sucking face to take care of a teenager even if he’d throw a handbook at them. It wasn’t even like they were on-season, and even if they were, Yuri wouldn’t be stupid enough to miss out on practice just because Yakov and Lilia wouldn’t be in town. Except, when he told his coach just what his protests were, he gave him a stern look— at least it was supposed to look stern, Yuri thought Yakov looked constipated more than anything— and told him that he’d already spoken with Victor and Yuuri. Apparently, they were more than excited to take Yuri in for two days. Joy. Absolutely wonderful, Yuri thought.

And so, The Russian Punk™ spent his Friday night packing underwear, socks, his binder and stuffed cat into his leopard patterned suitcase, all the while muttering curses in every language he had any sort of knowledge of. He had just gotten out of the shower, his hair dripping wet and a towel wrapped around his torso, when, as he was trying to place his toy somewhere where it wasn’t openly visible, a familiar _ping_ filled the empty sound of his room. He rushed to the phone sitting on his vanity table, tripping on a pair of shorts abandoned on the floor in the process of doing so. He didn’t normally answer his phone or his texts— mostly because it was usually Yakov in the mood to yell at him. Either that, or Victor, usually drunk, flooding their conversation with pictures of Makkachin ( _“he’s trying to stqnd on two pAWS OMG LOOK AT HIM YURATCHKA !!!!” )_ or trying to remind him of how beautiful His Fiance, Katsuki Yuuri, was. 

This, however, was the reason he assigned Otabek a specific ringtone, so his friend didn’t end up thinking Yuri was purposefully ignoring his texts or calls. His breath caught in his throat when his eyes settled on his screensaver— it was a selfie they had taken in their short time together in Barcelona, of Beka sporting the smallest smile and Yuri hiding his grin in his shoulder. Yuri remembered him smelling of peppermint and warmth. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought they were a couple. Mila often teased him about his friendship with Otabek, particularly because she thought Yuri had a crush on him. He wasn’t stupid though, and he knew that Beka only saw him as a brother, given their age difference and the nature of their friendship. All that being said, he still couldn’t help the small flip his stomach did every time he received a notification mentioning the kazakh boy’s name.

His phone in his hand, he looked down at the lock screen notification.

**[7:54pm] otabek**

_Facetime?_

It was a simple text. One word. A question mark. Yet, Yuri was simultaneously thrilled and scared shitless. Thrilled because it wasn’t often they got to talk, and even though they had been texting a whole lot since Barcelona and were extremely good friends, the time difference and their busy schedules didn’t really allow for much chit-chat. Yuri didn’t exactly mind, though, because even if he often misses talking to Beka, not finding time to do it regularly meant they always had a lot to catch up on and their conversations were never dull— Yuri doubted they could ever be. Yes, he was excited that Otabek found time to talk to him, but the water droplets were running down his shoulder blades, tickling his skin and reminding him that he was still in a towel. Eyes widening, he took a quick look at himself in the vanity mirror and sure, they there were, two subtle yet still obvious blobs of fat on his chest. For a second, he wondered if he could hold his phone in such a way that they weren’t visible— or maybe he could arrange the lighting so it wouldn’t be too obvious? He cringed internally. He wanted to come out to Otabek, he really did, because he was the only one he trusted enough to come out to, but it just didn’t feel right to do it by text. Similarly, he could just make it sort of obvious and play it off as something he’s cool with, but Yuri finds that his ability to play nonchalant vanishes as soon as Beka’s face comes into play.

He meets his own eyes in the mirror. He looked everything but masculine. Narrow shoulders, connected to his neck by the curved lines of his muscles— which were barely visible anyway— heart-shaped face, small nose and soft chin. His mind thought back to his past image, long hair and smooth, feminine voice. He wrinkled his nose. He cut his hair and lowered his tone of voice, sure, but it didn’t do much in making him feel more like himself. Especially with the breasts’ lingering weight on his body. He felt thankful, on his good days, that they weren’t bigger, because they’d be impossible to hide given his petite frame, but he didn’t want _small breasts._ He wanted _no breasts._

His thoughts were slowly going down a darker path, but were fortunately interrupted by another _ping_. Although he knew it wasn’t Otabek— he had to remember to text him back— he glanced back down at the phone anyway, welcoming any and every distraction. 

**[8:06pm] katsudon**

_i’m going to the grocery store. do u want anything for tomorrow?_

_Tomorrow?_ 'Shit,' he cursed under his breath. He had forgotten. _Right, tomorrow,_ he thought, as he scanned his messy bedroom. His light travel suitcase was still sitting on his bed, and he noticed that Potya, his cat, had made herself comfortable in the warmth of his packed underwear. He cracked a small smile at her soft snores. He made a mental note to finish packing right after he answered Otabek and Yuuri. He didn’t even bother thinking which to answer first, as he pulled up their conversation.

**[sent 8:07pm]**

_sorry, i can’t facetime right now_

**[sent 8:07pm]**

_can we text?_

Now he only had to wait. He assumed Otabek wouldn’t have been clutching his phone waiting for a reply, like Yuri often found himself. No. He probably had been doing something before and found a free moment to text Yuri. Or did Otabek notice he didn’t answer right away and felt offended? Maybe he was purposely avoiding him, maybe he was mad. Oh God, what if he was mad— 

**[seen 8:09pm]**

He exhaled a shaky breath. _Okay, two minutes. He wasn't avoiding you. Probably just didn’t have his phone on hand._ The reply came immediately after, and the familiarity of the situation helped soothe his erratic heartbeat.

**[received, 8:09pm]**

_Of course. What are you doing?_

**[sent 8:09pm]**

_just finished taking a shower_

**[sent 8:10pm]**

_and i should probably finish packing, too_

_[typing…]_

**[received 8:10pm]**

_Packing? For what?_

**[sent 8:10pm]**

_yakov’s being an ass and sending me to victor’s place for the weekend_

**[sent 8:11pm]**

_apparently i can’t take care of myself_

**[sent 8:11pm]**

_do i look like i need a babysitter, otabek?_

_[typing…]_

**[received, 8:11pm]**

_Well, if we’re being honest here…_

**[sent 8:11pm]**

_and i swear to god if you say i do-_

**[sent 8:12pm]**

_i hate you_

**[sent 8:13pm]**

_so fucking much, beka_

**[received 8:13pm]**

_I see now how Very Small Angry Child suits you_

Yuri didn’t know whether to break into an ear-splitting grin or throw his phone across the room.

**[seen by you 8:13pm]**

_[typing…]_

_it doesn-_

_[typing…]_

_it’s v angry smol bea-_

_[typing…]_

_i’m not a child-_

_[typing…]_

**[sent 8:14pm]**

_have i mentioned i hate you?_

**[received 8:14pm]**

_A couple of times, actually._

**[sent 8:15pm]**

_well it’s true_

**[sent 8:15pm]**

_i’m here stressing over spending a weekend at some stranger’s house and you’re making fun of me_

**[sent 8:16pm]**

_NOT COOL, BEKA_

He was kidding, naturally, but the topic of conversation made him wary. Even though he didn’t particularly enjoy Victor and Yuuri’s company, he didn’t outright hate them. He just didn’t trust them. He’d never trusted Victor, having made that mistake once in the past when Victor hadn’t kept his promise, instead choosing to go after banquet boy or, alternatively in Yuri’s mind, Katsudon. And Katsudon? Yuri didn’t know him, at all. He knew the anxious Yuuri before a competition, pitiful Yuuri after a failed program, the determined Yuuri whenever he doesn’t get the jumps right, and the _wild ass, drunk out of his mind, stripping down to boxer briefs and socks, pole dancing with Chris, grinding on Victor and asking him to be his coach_ Yuuri, but he didn’t know _Yuuri_. He didn’t know what made him angry or what kind of people he liked— he was engaged to Victor, after all, so how high could his standards be? — or what TV shows he watched when he was bored or if noise woke him up in the middle of the night. 

Most importantly, he didn’t know where either of them stood when it came to LGBT+ issues. Well, the L and G and B were quite clear, given the fact that they were both gay as fuck— to be 100% honest, Victor was actually bi and Yuuri? he could’ve been ace for all he knew, (somehow, given last year’s banquet, he doubted it)— but the T? He had no idea. He was barely 16, but he’d already met a whole array of transphobic people who weren’t straight, so why would Victor and Yuuri be any different? They didn’t exactly strike him as the bigoted types, but neither did his last boyfriend, and yet here he was.

At the very least, Yuri knew Beka was more than okay with everything. He had told Yuri about his sister, who had wanted to transition during early childhood, and her parents had tried to be supportive but still wouldn’t let a fourteen year old make permanent decisions like that. Otabek had been there for her, comforting her and trying to explain it from their mothers’ perspective, and eventually, they all agreed that once she would reach 18 her family would support her decisions, whatever those turn out to be. When Yuri found out, he had wanted to book a ticket to Kazakhstan right then and there just to be able to hug him. Instead, with shaky hands and the biggest grin that had ever graced his features until then, he typed out a semi-essay on why he was the best brother one could ever ask for.

Now that he thought about it, that text message could’ve conveyed a little more about Yuri’s experience with wanting to transition than he had initially wanted to let on, but he couldn’t have cared less when his best friend was such a perfect human being. Even now, as he remembered the day Otabek told him about his sister, he feels his muscles pull into a half proud, half enchanted smile. He broke out of his daydream when his notification light blinked. His gaze landed on his screen. He wrinkled his brows when he realised he had seven unread texts from Otabek. He must’ve not noticed the light, which was weird and unusual of him, but he didn’t pay it any mind as his fingers swiped across the screen, pulling up their conversation.

**[received 8:18pm]**

_I thought you were spending it at Victor’s?_

**[received 8:18pm]**

_Victor’s no stranger, Yura. You know that, right?_

**[received 8:19pm]**

_I know he’s not exactly reliable but he cares about you_

**[received 8:23pm]**

_Have you finished packing?_

**[received 8:29pm]**

_Yura?_

**[received 8:33pm]**

_Hey, my moms are calling me. Talk to you later_

**[received 8:33pm]**

_And don’t worry about Victor. It’ll be fine, it’s just for_

_two nights._

**[seen by you 8:34pm]**

  
  


Yuri groaned, throwing himself on the bed and burying his head in the soft pillow. Potya gracefully made her way onto Yuri, paws kneading the skin on his back. _Great,_ he thought. Not only did he get distracted by his mind again, but he also lost his opportunity to talk to his best friend. He missed Beka. Frowning, Yuri got up from the bed, dried himself off and changed into sleeping clothes. He really had to find the courage to come out to Otabek, despite the fear gnawing at his insides whenever he wanted to. Sometimes, worry got the better of him; he thought that the sinking feeling was a sign that he shouldn’t tell him, that he should keep packing and wearing his binder until he was old enough to finally get surgery and _forget_ about this whole ordeal. But other times, especially when Beka would be more attentive and sweeter than usual, his heart would fill with joy, warmth and trust. A small smile graced his lips. If Mila or Victor ever realised how soft he became next to Otabek, he’d surely never hear the end of it. Just as well, he thought, since he had plenty of things to call them out on: Victor and his non-stop blabbering about Just How Great Katsuki Yuuri Is, and Mila, who had been acting like a teenager with a crush ever since she set eyes on that Italian brunette. Good thing her annoying brother didn’t even think that his sister perhaps wasn’t straight, and kept on threatening every single man even daring to breathe in her direction. He scoffed to himself. _Idiots in love._

***

He woke up just as he had fallen asleep: messy, unbrushed hair, mouth open and fingers threading through Potya’s fur. His blanket was warm and protective. He basked in the light that caressed his face, enjoying the soft hum of the wind that came in through his open window. Yuri almost smiled in quiet content, but his peace suddenly dissolved when he realised that it was Saturday morning, and Yakov was probably soon going to leave with Lilia. He groaned, mostly out of habit, taking special pleasure in burying his face in his sheets and trying to shield himself from the outside world and all the annoying people in it. 

Yuri wasn’t even allowed ten minutes of solitude, Yakov pounding on his bedroom door and yelling at him to get up and dressed, the epitome of respect. He grudgingly obliged, throwing off his blanket and disturbing his precious Potya. She meowed at him, obviously just as grumpy as her owner. Yuri pursed his lips and watched her jump off the bed and shamelessly rub her butt on his furniture. If only he could disregard everything and everyone around him with such poise. 

Yuri yelled back to his coach in response, throwing in some comments about lack of hair and old age, just so Yakov didn’t think anything was wrong with him. Deprived of all enthusiasm yet still with a sense of urgency, Yuri finished packing his suitcase. After quickly brushing his teeth, hair and spraying some deodorant on himself, he grabbed his phone and earbuds and took in his bedroom one last time. Once he made sure he forgot nothing, he grabbed his suitcase, ushered Potya into the pet carrier and walked out of his bedroom. He wordlessly passed Yakov and Lilia arguing in the living room and went outside, stuffing his luggage in Yakov’s trunk and throwing himself onto the backseat.

Yuri busied himself with music, texting Otabek and fussing over his cat, who was dozing off in the carrier next to him. He waited for a solid ten minutes before his impatience got the best of him and he got out of the car, slammed the door behind him and went to see why his coach was being _so_ slow. Yuri faltered when he saw another car parked in front of their house, eyes widening. There was only one man in the entirety of St. Petersburg who could drive a pink Cadillac and not die of embarrassment in the process. He closed his eyes, feeling like the last remnants of his will to live were seeping out of his body, soul included. 

‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered under his breath, mentally preparing for a glowing forehead and an ever brighter smile to effectively suffocate him. As Yuri pushed the front door open, he saw a lobster-red Yakov, hat practically steaming on his head, Lilia, graceful and unbothered as ever, and Victor, his stupid smile and stupid receeding hairline and stupid clothes. ‘What the fuck?’ he asked, hopefully angry enough so Victor’s grin would fall off his stupid face.

Seeing Yuri, the man only smiled wider. ‘Yura!’ _Yura_ regretted not staying in the car and minding his own fucking business. ‘How I’ve missed you, little one.’ Victor made a move to ruffle his hair, and Yuri hissed. _Hissed._ Nobody acted like it was anything out of the ordinary. 

‘Why are you here, old man?’ Yuri managed to say in the midst of trying to get Victor to stop touching his hair. 

‘Why, I’m here to pick you up. Poor Yakov and Lilia are running late, so they asked for me to bring you over.’ Victor’s grin widened the more Yuri tried to resist his hair-ruffling.

‘Actually, I asked Yuuri to come pick him up. Sometimes I think he’s the only sensible one in this household,’ grumbled Yakov, his face finally having regained his natural shade. Lilia only raised an eyebrow at his comment, but did not argue against it. She knew to pick her battles.

Victor pouted. ‘Unfortunately, Yuuri is caught in the kitchen at the moment. He’s been working hard to make your visit as welcoming as possible, Yura.’ The older man glanced at Yuri, a fond look in his eyes. Yuri’s reaction was a mixture of poorly concealed embarrassment and an attempt at disgust. Victor’s smile didn’t falter.

‘Yakov, it’s time to go,’ said Lilia, who had been unsubtly peeking at her watch for the past ten minutes. She tended to agree with Yakov. Sometimes, it truly felt like Yuuri was the only one with his head on his shoulders. Too bad Yuuri wasn’t there, she had to deal with two grown men acting like children and a child acting like a baby. Lilia sighed, taking her and Yakov’s luggage and walking to the front door. It took Yakov about five seconds to stop quarrelling with Victor and Yura and trail after her, trying to help her with the suitcases. Lilia inwardly smiled, secretly fond of his antics. On the outside, though, she was stoic and gracious as she walked to the car, took out Yuri’s luggage and pet carrier and put hers in the trunk.

‘I guess this leaves the both of us.’ Victor chipped, the annoying smile never leaving his face. Yuri grumbled and walked out the door. He waited for the old man to join him outside so he could lock everything up. As Yakov and Lilia backed out the driveway in their car, Victor waved after them and waited for Yuri to place his suitcase in the trunk of his own car. Yuri made it seem like touching his pink Cadillac and strapping himself to the front seat was a most harrowing task, clutching the pet carrier for dear life. Victor chuckled, fond despite Yuri’s infamous antics. 

Yuri really didn’t like Victor. Yuuri was bad enough, all soft and smiling and innocent and _pretending to care_ , but Victor was just plain tiring. He said nothing during the car ride, putting on his earbuds as soon as Victor decided Yuri was the perfect conversation partner for his useless smalltalk. He said nothing as Victor pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket, going inside and returning fifteen minutes later with a stuffed shopping bag Yuri eyed suspiciously. Victor only grinned when he saw him staring, so Yuri turned away, covering his head with his hood. He kept quiet as, ten minutes later, Victor pulled into the car park of his apartment building and silently trailed behind him inside, to the elevator and then to their front door.

As soon as Victor unlocked it and stepped inside, Yuuri came into full view, apron tied around his waist and smelling like food. Yuri didn’t have time to scoff before two brown balls of fluff, one bigger than the other, jumped on him, pinning him to the ground. The pet carrier’s door had opened from the impact of being dropped, Potya fleeing down the hall as the two beasts ran after her. A faint “No, bad Makkachin!” and “Vicchan, stop!” could be heard from both Yuuri and Victor as they scrambled to catch the dogs. Yuri just sighed.

It was going to be an exhausting weekend, at best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments and bookmarks are highly appreciated:)  
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	2. But if you're troubled and hurt (there'll be someone there for him)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the feral kitten is feral for a reason; kitchen accidents and pirozhki somehow lead to tears, hugs and confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter finished a long time ago, but the lack of response on the first one kind of put a damper on my whole excitement. Still, that doesn't really matter, does it? I want this fic to be finished and posted, so that's what I'll do.
> 
> CW: non-intentional misgendering and (briefly) mentioned transphobia. Details at the bottom.

Yuri doesn’t like Victor. That much is clear, and a weekend spent with him is probably going to make tolerating him even harder. Yuuri’s slate, though, is relatively clean compared to his fiance’s, and in Yuri’s mind that equates to more reasons not to trust him. Despite his doubts, Yuuri is nothing but welcoming smiles, emanating the energy of a mother bear with every word he says to Yuri. He doesn’t know if he should find this disheartening or just plain insulting. 

‘Stop fussing, Katsudon, and go back to the kitchen.’ Yuri glares. Yuuri frowns.

‘Did you just… No sexist jokes in my house, Yuri.’ Yuri’s eyes widen, noticing the press of Katsudon’s lips. He almost laughs. It’s the first time he didn’t act like some sort of helpless flower around him. Yuri smirks, but Katsudon’s expression doesn’t ease, he doesn’t falter. 

‘If you want me to stop fussing, sure. I care about you, and I know this is probably the last place you want to be in—’  _ At least he got that right.  _ ‘— but I expect you to have some respect. Not for me, not for Victor, even though I’m sure we’d both appreciate that, but some degree of self-consciousness when you make remarks like that.’

Yuri feels taken aback. He pretends not to feel his cheeks redden, he should know better. He’s thinking whether it would be better to apologize or just shut up when the smell of smoke and a sharp ringing assault his senses. He’s at a loss, but Yuuri just sighs.

‘ _ Victor,  _ I told you not to go near the kitchen ever again.’ He hears the distinct sound of a fire extinguisher being used, then the rumble of metal pots and pans being thrown around. Victor emerges from the kitchen, extinguisher foam in his hair, smiling sheepishly. 

‘I just wanted to help! You were busy chatting to Yura,’ Victor explains, raising his hands as if he hadn’t just caused a house fire. He doesn’t seem guilty at all, Yuri notes, drying his hands on his apron wrapping his arms around Yuuri. Katsudon swats him away, but there’s a smile on his face. The words  _ Kiss the Cook  _ are written on Victor’s apron, and Yuri can’t help but snort. 

Yuuri turns to look at him, expression softer than before. ‘I guess I really should have gone back to the kitchen, huh? It’s never safe when you have a walking fire hazard for a husband.’

‘But Y _ uu _ ri, we’re not even married yet!’ Victor yells from the bathroom, having gone to rinse his hair of foam. Katsudon ignores him, rolling his eyes. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Yuri mumbles, intentionally quiet. He hopes Katsudon doesn’t hear him.

Katsudon does hear him. ‘It’s okay, Yura. I know you mean well. I get enough of the emasculating comments from fans who think being in a relationship with a guy makes either of you as inferior as they seem to think women are.’ Yuuri gives him a half smile, not quite reaching his eyes. If he had been expecting anything out of his first hour living with the dorks, it really wasn’t a lecture on gender roles. Yuri should have known better, though, especially in the position that he was in.

‘Yeah. I get it. Whatever, Katsudon.’ Yuri found there was no malice in his voice, despite not wanting to seem affected by Yuuri’s words. Yuuri simply smiled, casting a regretful glance toward the kitchen. Yuri’s stomach grumbles. Yuuri’s frown deepens. 

‘I love Victor with all my heart, but damn, I worked on that casserole all morning.’

‘Did I hear my name, by any chance?’ Victor walked out of the bathroom, toweling his hair. He plopped down on the couch, facing Yuri, his grin giving away no sign of guilt.

‘Yes, darling. You ruined my food, and Yuri’s hungry.’ Victor gave his fiance another sheepish smile, bringing him down for a kiss.

‘If you keep this up I promise I’m not going to be hungry for long, you idiots.’ Yuuri laughed and he scowled, not having missed their gross face sucking in the slightest.

‘Okay, okay. We do need to eat something that’s preferably not burnt to a crisp, though.’ Katsudon pinched Victor’s side and he yelped, a look of dramatic betrayal crossing his face. 

Yuri figured he liked Katsudon better than Victor already. 

***

They ended up going out for pirozhki and taking their beasts out for a walk in the meantime. Yuri saw the betrayed look Potya shot him when they left her alone in the apartment, but he thought it would be best to let her explore her temporary home without two slobbery dogs on her tail. He was quiet on their way there, despite Victor’s constant remarks and comments about their surroundings ( _ Look, Yuuri, a puppy! Do you think we should get a third one?  _ or  _ Y _ uu _ ri, why does Makkachin always listen to you? She’s supposed to be my dog!  _ or, by far the worst one, when Yuuri’s attention is caught by something else other than Victor, and he’s left to desperately try to bring it back on him:  _ You’re so beautiful, Yuuri! I have the most beautiful fiance in the world.) _ and Yuuri’s awkward attempts at getting to know Yuri. However, he doesn’t mind the latter nearly as much as the former, as Yuuri’s generally more approachable and less… Victor. It almost feels enjoyable to talk to him, sometimes. But, of course, he’d never say that out loud. He scoffs to himself. Like he’d think of Katsudon as anything other than Victor’s not quite as annoying fiance.

The place they stopped at for pirozhki was decent, Yuri thought as he chewed on the soft bun. Definitely not better than his grandpa’s, though. He tried to hide the small grin on his face after thinking of all the memories he had, helping his grandfather bake his favourite food. Victor didn’t seem to care for his food at all, making a big show out of stealing Yuuri’s, and Katsudon complied without much thought. Victor happily chewed on his fiance’s food, face lighting up like an evergreen on Christmas.

‘Vkusna! These are almost as good as Nikolai’s, Yura!’ Victor literally beamed.

‘Mine are better than this.’ Yuri scoffed, his heart clenching at the mention of his grandfather. He did have a multitude of happy memories with him, but that didn’t make him miss him less.

Yuuri, on the other hand, perked up at his words. ‘You can make pirozhki?’

‘Well, yeah. My grandfather taught me, but it’s been a while.’ He cast his eyes downward.

‘I’ve been meaning to get around to making them for a while, but I can never seem to find a good recipe. Would you like to make some this weekend?’ Yuuri offered, smiling slightly. Yuri didn’t know what to make of it. Thoughts raced in his head. He didn’t have time to think of the implications, of the memories it would inevitably dig up, of whether he’d be able to keep the tears in this time, because— 

‘Yura! That would be so fun! We can cook together, like a family!’ Victor’s awful smile didn’t falter one bit despite Yuri’s scowl. ‘Come on, it will be fun! Cooking with my Yuris.’ Victor snuggled up to his fiance, who kissed his forehead in return.

‘What makes you think you’re allowed in the kitchen, Vitya?’

Yuuri smirks and Victor’s face falls, but Yuri doesn’t miss the playful undertones. He snorts, stuffing his face in his pirozhok so the idiots don’t think he’s actually laughing because of them,  _ enjoying  _ spending time with them. He keeps a scowl on his face as he eats and he chooses to promptly ignore the way his heart flutters with an unfamiliar sense of belonging.

***

If it hadn’t been clear to Yuri before why Victor was forbidden from coming anywhere near the kitchen—what with the  _ fire _ and all that— it certainly became crystal-clear then.

As promised, they set out to make pirozhki that afternoon. Yuuri was delighted to find out that Victor had already bought a lot of the ingredients they needed on his trip to pick up “their son”, as they disgustingly insisted to call him, having made secret plans to surprise Yuri with his favourite food at some point during the weekend. Yuuri had beamed, muttering a sickly sweet  _ “You think of everything, Vitya”  _ while leaning up to kiss his fiance. Yuri gagged, but they paid him no mind. Soon, they were prepared to start cooking.

While Katsudon moved around the counters, with pots and pans and ingredients, as if he was performing a thoroughly rehearsed choreography, Victor flubbed about like a stumpy penguin. Yuri would have laughed his ass off, provided that he wouldn’t have had to correct half of the old man’s work so that nothing would set off the fire alarm this time. Yuuri seemed unbothered, kneading dough and occasionally looking at the pots on the stove, checking how the filling went along cooking. Victor unabashedly stared at Yuuri’s forearms as he dug his fists and elbows into the dough, and Yuri had to punch him in the shoulder a couple times just to set his attention back to the fucking electric whisker.

‘Yuuri, what do you think about switching to homemade bread instead of store-bought?’ Yuuri stilled in his movements, furrowing a brow. Victor took his hand off the whisking bowl to wipe off some flour from Katsudon’s cheek. Yuri almost screamed as the machine kept spinning its whiskers inside the unattended bowl,  _ he is such a fucking bufoon, _ and prevented a cooking disaster by  _ actually using his hands on the thing and not letting it go as soon as you see something pretty, Dicktor. _

The smile Yuuri wore while cooing at his stupid fiance quickly died down as soon as he realised that Victor had been supposed to whisk some fucking eggs, and failed.  _ Eggs.  _ Yuri grumbled and kept at it, while Yuuri chided Victor for being careless. Victor pouted, making a move to grab the whisker and the bowl again.

‘Fuck off, old man. You’re never touching kitchenware again as long as I have a say in it.’ Yuuri smiled and continued kneading the dough.

‘Y _ u _ ra, there’s no need to be so impolite. What did I ever do to you?’ Dicktor had no fucking shame, did he? He felt his grip tighten around the mixer,his teeth clenching. He had to remain calm. For Katsudon. He probably wouldn’t appreciate his fiance getting a busted lip or bruises anywhere near his face. He hated this, so fucking much. Why couldn’t he just make the damn pirozhki in peace, just Katsudon and him, having a jolly good time and not threatening to make a mess of the entire kitchen? Why did the balding manchild have to come along? He missed quiet baking sessions with his grandfather, he missed actually being treated like a human being and not some petulant child. He wanted everything to be over, god damn it.

‘Yuri? Are you okay?’ His head snapped towards Katsudon, whose concern was etched on his features. He scowled, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He had been doing well, only mildly annoyed by Victor’s antics and his fucking fiance, who looked at him in such  _ pity.  _ He thought he could handle it, he really did. Yuri felt his whole body tremble, the whisker suddenly heavy in his hands. He turned it off, set it on the counter and fled. 

Yuri wasn’t a crier. He didn’t cry when he lost competitions, he didn’t cry when he felt alone, he didn’t even cry when his first cat ran away. Despite this, there are some instances when emotions simply get the better of him, building up and exploding however hard he tries to ignore them. Out of all the awful emotions he’s sometimes forced to feel, he’s most familiar with anger. It’s easier to yell louder than the person yelling at you than to voluntarily let the daggers they’re throwing hit you. Yuri isn’t a crier, he’s a yeller. He’s a puncher, a kicker, anything you want to call it. Anger is a comfortable emotion. It wraps around you like a warm blanket and whispers in your ear. It tells you that they’re the ones hurting you, you have every right to counterattack, it’s fight or flight and you aren’t a coward. 

Except for the times when he is a coward. 

Like this one.

He was a coward for not showing up at his grandfather’s funeral, instead choosing to bawl his eyes out while rehearsing his free skate routine. Yakov had actually attended, unlike him, so he couldn’t yell at Yuri for doing dangerous spins while his eyes were clouded with tears, head and heart threatening to burst. So, he had kept on spinning and jumping, ignoring the pain he felt in his joints every time he fell.

He was a coward for not coming out to his best friend, the one person he  _ knows  _ would never judge him despite his many shortcomings, even though he desperately wanted to talk about his weird body and feelings and hormones. 

And he was a coward then, too, for hiding in Victor and Katsudon’s guest bedroom, back against the door, knees up to his chest. It wasn’t the first time Victor teased him, and definitely not the worst of times. So  _ why  _ the fuck did he react like that? Ugly tears were running down his cheeks, hot and wet and quickly drying. He felt disgusting, like some sort of small child post-tantrum, almost like Katsudon after his flubbed free skate that one time in Sochi. At least Yuuri had had a reason to cry in a bathroom stall, unlike himself, who was simply bothered by fucking bread buns and teasing comments.

A wrangled sob escaped his lips, Yuri hating himself even more for being so damn  _ loud.  _ His chest was heaving, pain shooting through his ribcage with every breath.  _ Damn this fucking binder,  _ he thought, moving his hands in a too often practiced manner in order to take it off. He suddenly felt a lot lighter; it was easier to breathe, but his mind wouldn’t settle for some time.

__ He didn’t know how much time passed until he thought he heard footsteps shuffling outside the door. The soft knock that followed made him stiffen. 

‘Yuri? A-are you ok?’

It was Katsudon’s voice. Yuri shakily sighed, mustering up as much fire as possible.

‘What do you think?’ The words came out croaky, his voice cracking on the last syllable. 

‘Can I come in, please? I brought pirozhki and some tea.’

Yuri squeezed his eyes as hard as he could. He didn’t want to see Katsudon, he truly didn’t, but homemade pirozhki and something to soothe his burning throat sounded really good.

He couldn’t stay locked up in the guest room forever, he figured, and he might as well face Katsudon than his stupid fiance.

He slowly got up, knees aching after having been bent for so long in a single, uncomfortable position. Yuri opened the door inwards, inadvertently hiding behind it. Yuuri stepped in, slow and cautious, as if Yuri was going to slam the door in his face at any wrong move. He set the plate of food and the mug down on a coffee table, closing the door behind him and turning to look at Yuri. Yuri didn’t doubt his eyes were bloodshot, snot and tears quickly drying on his skin. But Katsudon said nothing about it, opening his arms slightly.

‘I don’t want hugs, Katsudon. You can leave now, thanks for the food.’ Yuri grumbled, but Katsudon only opened his arms wider.

‘Maybe you don’t want a hug, but I do. I feel bad for what happened out there. Can you humour me, Yuri? Please?’

Yuri raised an eyebrow but obliged. He didn’t want to admit how good it felt to have strong arms wrapped around him, to have a shoulder in which he could bury his face. He snuck his own arms around Yuuri’s waist, sighing softly. Maybe he had been lying to himself. Maybe he actually had wanted a hug. He couldn’t say he was complaining about it, anyhow.

A few quiet moments passed between the two of them, Yuri’s heart slowly coming down from its hype. He felt it beat in tandem with Katsudon, a realisation which made his cheeks prickle with warmth. Yuri was inwardly grateful for the dim light— thick, black clouds had covered up the sun long before he had broken down crying, which meant he didn’t feel nearly as exposed as he would have otherwise.

Yuuri didn’t let go until Yuri started shuffling in his embrace, having rested his cheek on the younger boy’s head, rubbing circles onto his back. It was the first time Yuri had let Katsudon hug him, and quite pleasant, surprisingly so, but he wanted the whole situation to be over and done with already. They broke the hug, Yuri avoiding the other’s eyes. He suddenly found a much higher interest in his feet, preferring to watch his toes wiggle in his socks than to face Yuuri.

‘Yuratchka. Are you feeling any better?’

Yuri found the nickname unfamiliar coming from Katsudon, but not irritating, like he’d imagined. He sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. ‘Yeah, I guess. Thanks,’ he mumbled, earning a soft smile from Yuuri. 

‘There are tissues, towels, shower gel and shampoo in the adjoining bathroom. I’ll bring your suitcase in here, is that okay? Then you can shower, eat, take a nap, anything you want. How does that sound?’ Yuuri’s voice was earnest, reassuring. Warm and comforting, much like the person it belonged to. Yuri only managed a meek nod, and he felt lips brush his forehead before Yuuri made a move to exit the room. 

‘Hey, Katsudon?’ Yuuri stopped, answering Yuri with a hum. ‘It was nice of you to… to, yeah. You’re nice. Thanks for giving me space first and not, like… suffocating me with hugs too soon.’ Yuri tried to smile, but it came out lopsided. Yuuri’s eyes sparkled.

‘No problem, Yura. You should thank Victor, though. He cares about you lots, even if he’s a silly bum sometimes.’

Yuri fell quiet. ‘Sure,’ he replied, very much unsure. Yuuri promptly retreated from his room, engulfing him in darkness again. Had that been a panic attack? Is that what Katsudon felt like every time he got overwhelmed with anxiety and shut out the outside world? He shuddered. He fucking hated every second of it. Well, maybe except the part where Katsudon hugged him. That had been nice. But it wouldn’t happen ever again, of course. Yuri wasn’t some sort of weak child needing hugs from his dads, even though Victor and Yuuri weren’t his dads and the hugs were… adequate, nothing more. He scoffed, despite being alone, and proceeded to take a long, steamy shower.

After he dried himself off, hair still wet and towel wrapped around his waist, he entered the bedroom to find his suitcase on the ground and Potya dozing off soundly on the bed. Yuri smiled at the familiarity of it all, suddenly reminded of the countless hotel rooms he’d spent his nights at, even though he didn’t have his cat with him any of those times. He threw himself down on the bed, stretching to take his phone from where Yuuri had put it, probably having brought it together with his belongings and cat. He noticed a couple missed texts from Otabek and two from Yuuri.

**[5:34pm] otabek**

_ What’s up? _

**[5:38pm] otabek**

_ Victor texted me, he told me to talk to you. _

**[5:38pm] otabek**

_ Everything all right? _

**[5:40pm] otabek**

_ Text me as soon as you can, okay? I’m worried _

**[6:17pm] katsudon**

_ we’re taking the dogs out, don’t wait up. if you need anything, call. _

**[6:18pm] katsudon**

_ and talk to otabek^^ _

Yuri sighed.

He felt exhausted. But, tired as he was— mostly emotionally, because they really hadn’t done that much that day— he pulled up the conversation between him and Otabek and tapped the call button. It rang once, twice, three times, his disappointment growing with each ring. It was 9pm in Almaty, how busy could Beka be? Yuri knew he mostly spent his weekends gaming or watching movies, not a big fan of group outings. Just as he was about to hang up, a smooth voice interrupted the dull ringing sound.

‘Yura?’ Otabek’s voice was barely audible, the background noise almost drowning it out. Still, the way he pronounced his name sent shivers through Yuri’s spine. He swallowed.

‘Hi, Beka.’ Yuri did not want to know if his voice sounded as soft and mellow to Otabek as it did to himself. ‘Where are you? The noise is really bad.’

‘At the club, Yura. I thought you remembered that I DJ on Saturdays from last time.’ Yuri could practically hear the smirk on Otabek’s lips, suddenly grateful that they weren’t facetiming. If they had been, he was sure his best friend would notice his blush and mercilessly tease him about it. 

‘Shut up! I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Otabek chuckled, a low rumble which made Yuri’s heart flutter.  _ Shut up to you too, stupid heart. He’s your fucking best friend. _

‘Hold on a second.’ Yuri heard something shuffle on the other side of the phone, muffled voices and then the noise drowned itself out. ‘There, I let my colleague take over. We can talk properly now.’

Yuri smiled, a small and secretive thing that he didn’t share with anyone but Beka. ‘Good. You said you talked to Victor?’

‘Yeah, he texted me saying something about pirozhki and you shutting yourself in your room and how I should talk to you. He seemed to think you needed me, or something.’ Yuri didn’t blush harder, he really did not. Neither did he want to rip out what few strands of hair Victor had left. Nope. Not. At. All.

‘I can’t fucking believe this old man. He’s such a fucking dickhead, Beka, I—’

‘Yuri.’

‘Don’t “Yuri” me! Why does he always have to run his mouth for no fucking rea—’

‘ _ Yuri. _ ’

Yuri quieted. He didn’t like when Otabek turned stern on him. ‘What, Otabek? What are you going to tell me? That he cares about me and that’s why I should forgive him? That I should just let him make those stupid jokes and innuendos of his and fucking swallow it all up _ like a good girl? _ Fuck no, Beka. And if you think I should, then you can just hang the fuck up.’

‘Yura…’

Yuri was breathing heavily, tears having formed at the corners of his eyes. He promised himself he’d get over the times when Victor was too depressed and ignorant to notice what his off-handed comments were doing to Yuri’s self-esteem. He tried to shove all those pent up emotions under the rug and forget about it all. Sometimes, though, they just came back up, he couldn’t help it.

‘I’m sorry, Yura. Can you tell me what happened, from the beginning?’

‘Not that much happened since this morning, though.’

‘No, Yura. I mean from the very beginning.’

And so he did. He always admired how observant his best friend was, always surprising Yuri by remembering little details he hadn’t even noticed. This time, though, he didn’t know whether he was grateful or resentful because of it. It was like a latch had opened inside of him, allowing him to pour out all his sorrows since the first time he looked in the mirror and thought  _ I hate this,  _ when he bought his first binder off a sketchy website and had to hide it from his parents. He told him about the first time he was grateful for his influential but absent parents, as they cared little enough to not bat an eyelid when Yuri asked to be signed up for the Men’s Junior Division instead of the Ladies’. He told him about praying that he would follow his mother’s frame and remain lithe and flat-chested for as long as possible, about the time when Victor was twenty-something and filled Yuri’s head with comments like  _ Good girl, You’re like the daughter that Yakov never had, Yuri!  _ and many others that fueled his depression like no other thing. He even told Beka about his stupid ex-boyfriend, who thought that just because he was trans, he was also willing to fuck and desperate to ditch his self-respect alltogether. Otabek said barely anything throughout Yuri’s rambling, only humming in encouragement for him to continue whenever doubt creeped up. 

And as he got to this dreaded fucking Saturday, he told Beka about the pirozhki, about all the memories of Nikolai that came up to the surface. He talked about how fucking guilty he felt for not having had the courage to talk to his grandfather for so many years, in fear of not being accepted and how when he finally wanted to come out to him, he received the news about the upcoming funeral. The feeling of longing he had for Otabek’s hugs reached peak intensity when the tears started falling. Yuri didn’t know if he wanted to keep talking or if he wished he never opened his mouth at all. He told his best friend everything, though, and hoped to be understood.

‘Oh, tiger…’ Otabek sighed. ‘I wish I were there with you, so you wouldn’t have to be alone.’

‘Me too,’ Yuri said meekly, grabbing for a tissue to blow his nose with.

‘Would you feel better if you talked to someone physically closer to you about this?’

Yuri scoffed. ‘I barely managed to tell you, Beka. What do you think?’

‘I think that it might help you. Maybe not talking to Victor, although you should do that at one point too, but what about Yuuri? He’s an understanding man.’

‘Katsudon’s done enough. Right now, I just want to sleep. What time is it?’

‘Half past eight, I think.’

‘Ugh,’ Yuri groaned. ‘It’s still so fucking early. And what are those two dorks doing out with the dogs for so long? They should’ve been back by now. Yuri looked out the window, noticing that it was almost past dusk, darkness soon to follow after it. He heard shuffling on the other end of the call and someone calling his best friend’s name.

‘I have to go, Yuri, I’m sorry. Talk to the other Yuri, okay?’ He could feel the other’s smile in his voice. Yuri hummed in approval, said goodbye and ended the call. He took a deep breath, reaching out to thread his fingers through Potya’s fur.

The dangling of keys, laughter and barking interrupted his thoughts a few moments later. Yuri listened for the voices, only making out Victor and Yuuri’s names and… a loud thud, followed by more laughter and pained moaning. Yuri rubbed at his eyes, making a move towards the door and hoping that it wasn’t what he thought it was. He opened the door;  _ Please, please let them be anything but—  _

‘Y _ u _ ri!’ Six whole feet of Russian slammed into him. ‘We missed you!’

_ — drunk. Fucking hell, Dicktor. _

Yuuri shot him an apologetic smile. And to think he had been worried for them.  _ Jesus Christ.  _ He never thought he’d say it, but he really,  _ really  _ missed Yakov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Yuri eventually comes out to Otabek and mentions Victor unknowingly making some pretty shitty remarks in the context, but he still hasn't come out to anyone. Victor is making the "telling a boy he looks like a girl because it's funny" joke without realising how much it actually affects Yuri. Yuri also briefly mentions an ex-boyfriend who objectified him.
> 
> Thank you for reading, even though I doubt many people will. The fandom's understandably subdued but my love for this show and its characters is rekindled every time I go back to old fics, mine or others', and I get reminded how much I adore their dyanmic.
> 
> Kudos and bookmarks are appreciated, but comments make me write more!<3


	3. What you got under your shirt (will never matter to them)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feral kitten snaps at figure skating idiot; it all turns out fine in the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the last chapter of this fic! I've had this in my drafts for way too long, hah.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> CW: Non-explicit mentions of s*icidal thoughts, unintentional outing and depression.

If Yuri would ever be asked what are some things he disliked, in general, he would make a list. And on that list, among bigotry and dogs and excessive theatrics, would lie Victor fucking Nikiforov, right at the very top. Still, if there was one thing he absolutely despised in this whole wide world, it was  _ drunk  _ Victor Nikiforov, who beautifully enconmpassed all the things Yuri disliked. 

‘Y _ u _ ri! We missed you!’ Yuri had barely regained his balance from when Victor had ran into his arms like he weighed nothing before he felt him being pried away by Yuuri. Katsudon seemed genuinely sorry for his fiance’s antics, but his sheepish smile also held something Yuri interpreted as “This is how he is, I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do”. He only sighed and moved towards the couch, leaving Katsudon behind to gently baby a grown-ass adult. He turned the TV on in the background, straining his ears to pick up on the movements of the other two. He heard a door open and close— presumably the one to their bedroom— a few muffled words, something that sounded suspiciously similar to Victor whining, then the door again. Yuri kept his eyes fixed on the TV even though he was mostly looking through it. He felt the couch dip next to him and didn’t have to turn his head to know Katsudon was looking at him. 

‘Have you talked to Otabek?’ Yuri refused to turn his head, but suspected Katsudon was sporting one of those frowns that made his features scrunch up.

He breathed. Did he want to talk to Yuuri about this? He’s relatively sure he wouldn’t be pushed if he outright refused to, but his heart tugged at the thought of lying to Yuuri. He’d come after him, after all, seemed to genuinely give a shit about his well-being. He deserved at least the courtesy of being answered, Yuri thought. 

‘Yeah. He helped.’

‘Do you want to talk about it? I promise I won’t tell, if you don’t want me to. Victor’s out cold.’ Yuri turned to face Katsudon at this, noting that his frown had turned into a small smile.

He couldn’t help but scoff. ‘Why do you even put up with his shit? He’s a fucking adult, he should know better.’

Panic threatened to well up in his stomach when Yuuri’s smile turned sour again.  _ Fuck. He should have just shut his mouth.  _ ‘It’s not like this happens often, Yuratchka. I know he seems like a menace—’ Yuri snorted. “Menace” was rather generous. ‘ — but it’s not like our marriage is me signing up for 24/7 babysitting. He’s actually a lot quieter when we’re alone.’ The smile was slowly coming back again, the more Katsudon talked about his fiance.  _ Gross,  _ Yuri wanted to say, but found he didn’t have the heart to interrupt. ‘He even listens to me when I tell him not to come into the kitchen.’ A pause, then his smile turns a little wry. ‘Well, sometimes. Point is, he was genuinely excited to have you come over. You should have seen how much effort he put into preparation.’ At this, Yuri raised a brow. Victor? To care about anyone other than himself, his dog and, more recently, his fiance? Unlikely. But Yuuri continued, spurred on by his obvious doubt. ‘He rearranged the furniture in the guest bedroom at least three times, to make it look as neutral and reminiscent of hotel rooms as possible. Cleaned the whole apartment himself, fixed the leak in the guest bathroom, read up about what measures to take to make Potya’s stay as undisturbed as possible. You haven’t even seen our bedroom, Yuri— he’s turned it into a doggy playroom in case Potya was scared of Makka and Vicchan and we’d have to lock them inside.’

As if on cue, his cat sauntered out of the guest bedroom, making herself at home on the couch, between them. Yuri felt his stomach twist in painful knots as he processed Yuuri’s words. Victor? Doing all this crap, for him? Again, unlikely. But Yuuri wouldn’t lie to him, would he? And, if he looked around the apartment, he noticed the distinct lack of dog furniture. Instead, he took note of a few mouse-thingies and sticks with fluffy feathers tied to them that probably weren’t dog-appropriate. His eyes widened of their own accord, but he schooled his features into a familiar scowl.

‘This is all nice and dandy, Katsudon, but it doesn’t change the fact that Victor hasn’t thrown one fuck my way the entire time we’ve been training together. Just because you, all soft and gentle and caring, swooped into his life and made him rethink his stupid ass behaviour, it doesn’t change years of him being a total dickhead.’ Yuri didn’t mean to snap, he really didn’t, but this whole thing was annoying him. Yuuri couldn’t just send a few pretty words his way and excuse every vile, thoughtless thing Victor’s spewed his way.

Instead of arguing back, as he had expected, Yuuri’s expression hardened, but remained otherwise relatively impassive. ‘I apologise if it seemed like I was making excuses for him. I wasn’t, I’m in no position to. I was just trying to explain.’ Yuuri’s face turned soft again. ‘Still, my offer stays. Do you wanna talk about it?’

Yuri scoffed instinctively. ‘Don’t you have better things to do, Katsudon? I’ll be fine and out of your hair tomorrow.’

‘I want to listen to you, if you’re willing to tell me whatever’s happened between you two. If you recall, I haven’t been anything but nice to you.’ His smile turned into a little cheeky smirk. ‘Or should I remind you of all the times you lashed out at me for no reason?’

Yuri didn’t blush. He  _ didn’t _ . It took a minute for him to gather his courage, but the night was young and Yuuri seemed patient.  _ Oh, hell.  _ He’s already spilled his soul out once tonight, what’s a second one?

So Yuri talked. Admittedly less than he talked to Beka, but he talked nonetheless. Yuuri was even more understanding than he’d expected, even if he kept some details to himself. He didn’t need to know about his shit choices in dating or the crush on his best friend, but he told him even more about Victor than he’d dared tell Otabek. He even found himself making fun of Victor together with Yuuri, who had way too many embarrassing stories about the man than what should be allowed. At one point, he even laughed. With  _ Katsudon.  _ His heart felt light when he talked about him being trans and Yuuri responded with nothing but unbridled joy and what looked like pride, for fuck’s sake. He tried to hide his satisfaction behind a scowl, but realised he didn’t care whether he succeeded or not.

Then came the fucking question. ‘Do you want to tell Victor?’ Yuuri had asked, and even though it was obvious he tried to keep his expression casual, there was a glint in his eye that told Yuri he was waiting for an answer.

He sighed, quieter and softer than he’d sighed in a long, long time. ‘I don’t know,’ was his truthful answer, which was met with an understanding smile.

‘That’s fine. But I do think he should know the impact his carelessness has had on you over the years. I’m glad you’re better now, but you deserve some proper closure.’

Yuri found he had nothing to say to that. He did, didn’t he? But he couldn’t just march up to Victor, tell him he’d been a defining factor in his struggle with depression and gender dysphoria and that his words had, once, driven Yuri so close to the edge that the thin strings barely holding him together had almost snapped. Nobody deserved that kind of burden. He was angry, for fuck’s sake, not a monster.

‘You won’t break him if you tell him, Yuratchka. He’s been getting therapy, his mental health is a lot better. He should hear it from you, so you can work on fixing your relationship together.’ Yuuri’s smile turned from wistful to just a little bit playful. ‘If you don’t, you’ll have to suffer him trying to win over your affections with pet names and hugs forever, Yuri.’

‘Not if I avoid him for the rest of my life,’ he mumbled, earning a laugh from Yuuri. Katsudon was probably right, but it was easier to focus on the latter part of what he said. The last thing Yuri wanted was to fall into an endless spiral of toxic thoughts again. Thankfully, Yuuri seemed to pick up on his attempts at deflection and respectfully changed the direction of the conversation.

‘You’ll have to, in the morning. Although he may be too hungover to actually suffocate you with hugs and apologies.’ They shared a small moment of secret fondness over Victor’s usual brand of affection. Well, secret for Yuri, who just rolled his eyes. Katsudon looked as besotted as ever. ‘You should go to sleep. I’ll take care of Victor and tell him not to bother you too much tomorrow.’ 

Satisfied with the small nod Yuri gave him, Katsudon stood up and got started on whatever he was planning to do about his fiance having fallen asleep drunk off his ass. Yuri took Potya under his arms, chest warming slightly at how easily she settled against his torso into a light purr. That night, he texted Beka a picture of his cat sprawled on top of him and only panicked a  _ little  _ about his barely visible breasts. Otabek sent him a photo of himself in the mirror, halfway through taking off his make-up. He was probably exhausted from DJing into the early hours of the morning, but still texted him a  _ “Goodnight, Yura <3”  _ that made butterflies kick in Yuri’s stomach. He fell asleep smiling, phone in hand, feeling strangely content. It was nice.

***

Sunday— along with the prospect of finally leaving Victor and Yuuri’s apartment— should have been like a fucking balm to Yuri’s recently reopened wounds, but all it did was bring more dread at the thought of facing Victor. Yuuri had promised that he’d keep his fiance at bay, but he knew what kind of determination made Victor the legend that he was; determination which undoubtedly seeped into his every-day affairs. He expected an interrogation, so he tried to emotionally prepare himself before he dressed in comfortable, loose clothes and walked to the breakfast bar.

He eyed Victor and Yuuri warily, who were both enraptured in a conversation that suspiciously sounded like the baby talk. Yuuri’s eyes barely made contact with his before he turned back to listen to Victor coo about… baby names? Were these two fuckers talking about children before they were even married?

Still, this was definitely better than the onslaught of questions he had been expecting. ‘I hope you’re not about to trap a child into this whirlwind of a household,’ he grumbled as he walked past them and into the kitchen, but his words lacked bite. 

Having grabbed food from the fridge, Yuri made his way back to where the idiots-in-love were seated. Victor was pouting and Yuuri was poorly hiding a smile. Yuri almost felt one settle on his features, as well, at the familiarity of the dynamic.

‘I think it’s a bit early to talk about children. Don’t you think so, Vitya?’ Yuuri was never as openly physically affectionate as Victor tended to be, but the way he looked at his fiance spoke volumes about the kind of love they held. Yuri felt the tiniest pang of jealousy in his gut and forcefully shoved a spoonful of yoghurt in his mouth, to… eat away the feeling? He wasn’t sure, but he definitely didn’t like it.

Victor nodding and looking at Yuuri with the same puppy eyes was enough to quickly dispose of the feeling and replace it with something that made him gag. ‘Mila and Sara were babysitting for a friend and they sent us pictures. The kid’s name is Panthy, Yuri. Panthy! What horrible parents. We wouldn’t name our hypothetical child Panthy, Yuuri, would we?’

As Yuri ate, the two of them settled into the easy chatter only couples could sustain, occasionally asking him a thing or two in a relatively appreciable attempt to involve him in the conversation. He mostly stuffed his mouth with oatmeal and fruit, though, only half-listening. Yuri realised a second too late that the chatter had died down and that two pairs of eyes were inquisitively looking at him. 

He startled when he noticed. ‘What?’ Yuri all but growled, shoving another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. 

‘Victor just said something about your crush on Otabek and you… said nothing.’ Yuuri spoke slowly, as if he couldn’t quite process the words himself.

_ What?  _ ‘What?’ Yuri blinked. Once, twice, then a third time for good measure.

Victor was smirking, the motherfucker. ‘You’re blushing, Yura. Careful, or I’ll actually think I’m right about Beka.’

Okay,  _ now _ he wasn’t having such a good time. ‘Fuck off, asshole,’ he growled.

Dicktor looked like he wanted to make another snide remark, but Katsudon’s hand on his shoulder and the loaded look he gave him made the old man rethink his decision. 

‘You know, Yuri, I think it’s kind of cute that you have a crush on your best friend,’ Yuuri said innocently, turning to him. Yuri sputtered, nearly choking on his oats.

‘Whose side are you on, Katsudon? Fuck you very much!’ He stabbed his spoon into his bowl and ignored their glee at Yuri’s lack of denial in this whole thing. He’d faced relentless teasing from Victor and Mila — even  _ Georgi,  _ whose forlorn sighs and one-liners about “the wonders of teenage love” were inherently humiliating, so he knew that denying it would make it even worse. He didn’t think Katsudon would  _ betray  _ him like that, though. He suppressed a shudder when he thought of how much worse it would have been if he actually  _ told  _ him about Otabek. Geez.

He almost didn’t notice the idiots exchange meaningful glances, but it caught his eye when Yuuri got up from the breakfast bar and grabbed the two leashes from their designated hook. Huh, he hadn’t realised he wasn’t wearing inside clothes, like Victor and himself. Wait, what was he…? Katsudon looked at Yuri with a raised eyebrow as he called the dogs to leash them and Yuri felt his face drain of colour.  _ The fucker.  _ He turned to Victor, who looked sheepish but definitely guilty. 

‘For fuck’s sake, Katsudon. I thought we had a deal.’ Yuri put his head in his hands and groaned in despair.  _ Fuck Victor, fuck Katsudon, fuck him for trusting that they would actually respect his fucking privacy— _

‘Yuri.’ Yuuri sounds stern when he calls his name, so he pauses his mild freak out and looks in his direction. ‘Victor wanted to talk to you. I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. If you’d rather not have this discussion, feel free to walk the dogs with me while Vitya does the cleaning.’ Yuri sees Victor pout slightly, which makes him feel only a little bit better. He sighs, rubs a hand over his face and makes a shooing motion with his other. Katsudon gets the message and exits the apartment, the dogs trailing behind.

Yuri just puts his head back in his hands and waits for the old fucker to start interrogating.

‘Yura, I wanted to apologize,’ Victor starts, and had he not been speaking in Russian the words perhaps wouldn’t have registered so quickly.

Yuri’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt. He doesn’t lift his head, but abruptly stops rubbing his temples. Were there hidden cameras? Was he being pranked?

‘There’s not— I’m— I noticed, Yura. I saw how fucking awful you were doing, going through the first stages of puberty. It took me a while before I put two and two together—’ Yuri feels his breathing become shallow and his skin prickle with goosebumps at Victor’s words, ‘—but first I want to say that I didn’t realise. I didn’t expect to be told, especially with how little you trusted me, but… ’ Yuri huffed a mirthless laugh. “Little” was a sordid understatement. ‘Yura, please look at me.’ 

Yuri lifts his head. Victor’s expression is stricken, mouth in a wide frown and deep creases along his forehead. He looks older now than he’d ever seen him. Yuri ignores the fact that the back of his eyes sting. 

‘I would have never said any of the things I did if I had known. The fact that I had my own issues to deal with is not an excuse, I’ve come to realise.’

‘Kind of late, don’t you think?’ Yuri mumbles, but he feels his resolve starting to crack. He’s so fucking tired. If there was one thing he hated about himself, it’s how much he admired Victor even after he’d been treated worse than the dirt under his nails.

Victor swallows, frown deepening. ‘It is late. You deserved better. You deserved to feel safe enough to ask for help. Though I can’t say you would have had competent role models when it comes to proper mental health.’ The asshole smiles wryly, but seems otherwise sincere.

Yuri ponders his response. ‘What gave it away?’ Should he feel angry at himself for letting others notice when he hadn’t come to terms with his gender himself yet, back then? Probably. But he is so ready to leave this bullshit behind.

Victor’s wry smile strains, which would have brought Yuri great pleasure in any other situation. ‘Buying binders with the credit card that Yakov’s made for you isn’t inconspicuous when the man is religious about his finances.’

Yuri wants to slap himself. He’d been thirteen and stupid, but the deed was done, wasn’t it? ‘And he told you before he told me?’ He scoffs. ‘Like I believe that.’

‘He told me and we decided it would be best to not push. Shit decision, in hindsight, because you could have gotten therapy and actual support from—’

‘Shut up, for fuck’s sake! I’m here, aren’t I? I’m here, I’m fine, and it sometimes feels like I’m more mature now than you ever pretended to be at twenty. I’m thrilled you’re not depressed anymore, you dickhead, but nothing’s going to change the shit I went through because of you! You shouldn’t have snooped through my purchases to realise that it’s shitty when you tell a teenage boy that he’s so fucking dainty and weak he reminds you of a girl.’ Yuri barely realises he stands up, nearly sending the barstool toppling. Victor is quiet, for once, as his own voice picks up in volume. ‘I could expect that from Yakov, even Lilia, for fuck’s sake, but you’re a queer figure skater, damn it! If I would’ve expected you to get one thing in that narcissistic head of yours by that age it would have been what emasculating comments can do to a person!’

‘You slip up too, Yura. It’s not as if—’

‘And I’m a fucking sixteen year old whose parents care so little they don’t even bother disowning me! I fought tooth and nail to get where I am, to not be misjudged and cast aside because of what I look like. You were on top of the fucking world, fucked half the Olympic village and nobody batted an eye, not to mention six years older than I am now! What the fuck, Victor?’ Yuri is heaving by the time he’s done throwing his tantrum, because that’s what he has done. He’s thrown a fucking tantrum, like a toddler, but he’s angry and he has a fucking right to be, damn it. 

‘I’m sorry, Yura.’ Yuri closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. ‘Please forgive me. Look, I can’t undo the past, even though I desperately wish I could. But I can be here for you now, support you now, be part of the loving family you should have had growing up.’

‘I had family,’ he spits out, heart clenching at the thought of his grandfather.

Victor gulps. His chin is trembling as if he’s holding back tears. Yuri suppresses the urge to feel guilty.  _ Good,  _ he thinks to himself, instead, ignoring how the unspoken word leaves a sour taste in his mouth. ‘I know you did, but—’ Victor starts, but thinks better of it. ‘We want to be here for you.  _ I  _ want to be here for you. It kills me every time I wonder if my words and actions affected you beyond what you showed me.’  _ Of course they did, you idiot.  _ ‘When Yuuri convinced me to give you space, yesterday, I just— I couldn’t think about it. Then he talked to you, and he confirmed it. I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you, Yuratchka. But I’ll try my damned best if it’s the last thing I do.’

Yuri doesn’t have the courage to look Victor in the eyes, not with how his voice trembles, thick with emotion. He struggles to breathe for half a minute, but eventually gives him a curt nod, grabs for his hoodie and shoes and goes for a walk. He isn’t there to watch Victor reach for the liquor cabinet, tear-stricken face crumbling in defeat.

***

When Yuuri comes home with Makkachin and Vicchan, he knows not to expect happy tears and hugs. Still, disappointment is rooted in expectations not being reached, which means he subconsciously hoped for something more than Victor on the kitchen floor, a bottle of rum in hand and tears running down his face. He suppresses what he knows is an ultimately unhelpful sigh as he ushers the dogs into the makeshift playroom and walks up to his fiance’s crumpled form. 

‘Vitya,’ he begins softly, relatively proud of the fact that the bottle hasn’t been opened yet. Old habits die hard, but Victor is trying. ‘Vitya, come on. Let’s put this back in the cabinet and we’ll clean you up.’ Yuuri’s lost count how many times he’s been found by Victor in this exact position, in varying states of distress. Every single time, his fiance had been there for him. It was only fair to return the favour, in the rare event that Victor’s perfectly crafted composure shattered.

They eventually settled on their bed, Victor much preferring physical reassurance than talking about his emotions before he’d completely put himself back together. Yuuri was carding his fingers through his fiance’s hair, Victor’s cheek squishing against his sternum. It would have been adorable if not for the ragged breathing and the forlorn expression he wore. It took a while before he seemed calm enough to talk, but Yuuri knew not to push. He quickly texted Yuri a “Come home when you’re ready” with the hand that wasn’t holding Victor, before allowing himself to relax with him in his arms.

‘I’m a horrible person,’ Victor muttered after an undefined amount of time, his voice tiny and full of guilt. 

Yuuri desperately wanted to see his face, but allowed Vitya the comfort of not being put on the spot. He had a lot of things to say about his statement, but opted for a disbelieving hum instead of the string of protests he actually wanted to make.

‘He hates me. He’ll probably avoid me his entire life and I’ll never get to see him again.’ Sometimes, Yuuri wonders if his self-deprecating habits rubbed off on his fiance. Is this what his friends felt like when he put himself down, overwhelmed with anxiety? If so, he really should remember to send gift baskets sometime.

‘He’s upset. Old wounds were dug up, it’s natural for him to want some time alone to process everything, Vitya. You hurt him a lot, but he’s turned out well by himself. Imagine how much more he’ll grow when he finally receives the love and support he deserves.’

Victor stirs in his arms, craning his neck to look at Yuuri. ‘How can I ever make it right?’

Yuuri sighs, more because of the weight of the entire situation than anything else. ‘Don’t give up on him. He’s got a temper, our Yuri, but he has a good heart. He’ll forgive you, one day, but you need to be there for him from now on.’ 

Victor looks better than half an hour ago, but still awful. ‘What if he doesn’t want me in his life anymore?’

Yuuri looks at Victor. His phone lights up on the bed, so he glances at it and finds a smile forming on his face. ‘Would he have sent me this if he didn’t want you in his life?’ he asks, showing Victor their conversation.

**[sent 10:26 am]**

_ Come home when you’re ready. _

**[received 10:54 am]**

_ sure, katsudon. tell the idiot he’s driving me back to yakov’s _

**[received 11:02 am]**

_ NOT in the cadillac. fucking monstrosity _

Victor smiles with his eyes, his lips trying but miserably failing to form the shape. They quiver a little bit, but Yuuri mutters an “It’ll be fine, you’ll see” and kisses the crown of his head.

Yuri’s luggage is half made, Yuuri notices when he goes to check his room. He just has to stuff a charger into a leopard print backpack and close a few zippers. He checks the guest room with one last sweeping look and brings everything out into the living room. Victor is doing the dishes— if Yuuri hadn’t known before, now he would’ve been convinced of how deep his fiance’s guilt ran— and everything seems to be ready for Yuri’s departure. Yakov and Lilia should be landing soon, having opted for an early flight so they waste as little time as possible.

When Yuuri’s phone eventually rings, Yuri’s name showing up on the screen (on top of a selfie of him and Victor, which obviously took Yuri by surprise judging by Victor’s shit-eating grin and Yuri’s shocked scowl), the two of them make their way down the stairs of the apartment building, luggage and pet carrier in tow. 

It takes all of Yuuri’s self control not to burst out laughing when Victor makes his way to his Cadillac, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by Yuri’s frightening glower. He hangs his head and begrudgingly motions for Yuuri’s car keys. He obliges, if only to make his fiance suffer a little bit. All in good fun, of course.

Yuuri purposefully stays home to let them resolve whatever awkwardness is left between them alone, even if he feels worry gnaw at his stomach at the thought of Yuri and Victor never going back to the playful teasing they always engaged in before. The drive to Yakov and Lilia’s isn’t long, but the roads inside the city are always unpredictable. He trusts Victor is a good driver, yet Yuuri still scrambles for his phone when he hears the notification sound.

It’s a picture text from Yuri. The image is a selfie taken by Yuri, strapped into the driver’s seat of his car, where they’ve stopped at a red light. The windows are open and Victor looks absolutely frazzled, fringe sticking up in all directions and exposing his forehead. His eyes are wide, mouth agape and cheeks flushed. He looks like he’s gripping the handle above the window for dear life. Next to him, a few strands of Yuri’s hair fell out of his bun, but he’s otherwise wearing a smug smirk, the hand not holding the phone on the steering wheel.

Below the image, there’s a text.

**[received 12:14 pm]**

_ old man thought it’d be nice to give me driving lessons. _

_ karma, motherfucker _

Yuuri snorts and finds a fond smile spreading over his face. He guesses they’ll be just fine, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that, folks! If you have feels, suggestions or complaints about the way this was handled, feel free to let me know.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!!! Find me on tumblr at @daddykatsuki to scream in gay panic.
> 
> Kudos and bookmarks are appreciated, but comments make me want to write more! <3


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